milk and honey
by HeartOfCoal
Summary: 'He breathed, hot and broken, into her hair– she would never admit to anyone how much that both pained her and completed her. ' sorry that I'm so bad at summaries. enjoy. (one shot turned multi-chapter.)
1. Chapter 1

It started with coffee. Coffee: one of the simplest of things in Alana's day, and a necessary starting block. Alana slid into her car and was half way to work when she realized that she forgot to put the lid on her thermos. She shakily drew the warm life source to her lips and tried to take a sip.

_Red light._ She looked up in time to slam on the breaks, effectively spilling the burning coffee onto her blouse. Groaning, she put the thermos into her cup holder and dug around in her glove compartment for napkins, but came up empty. By the time she got to work she was running twenty minutes late, smelled like old coffee and her lavender blouse had a large brown stain down the front. She pushed it from her mind and began running to her class.

The elevator closed when she was two feet away. Glancing with wide eyes at her watch, she began trotting up the stairs. Her heels began stabbing into the back of her ankles and she deliberated stopping to take them off, but she didn't need to; one of the heel's snapped off and she tumbled forward, catching herself before her head hit the stair.

_"Shit!"_ Alana spat. She heard footsteps and dragged herself to a standing position, holding her shoes in hand.

"Are you okay?" She looked up and groaned internally.

"I'm fine," she muttered to Will and brushed past him. He followed her with his cloudy eyes.

By the time she made it to her classroom, all her students were there; it was when she got to her desk that she realized that she had dropped her briefcase the stairs and never retrieved it. With a quick, exhausted sigh, she shed her coat and told her class she'd return shortly. No sooner had she turned the corner did she almost run face first into Will. He held up her briefcase and smiled tightly, almost apologetically, as if he were the reason that she had left it.

"You're a saint," she muttered and took the case from his grip; she brushed his fingers lightly with her palm and Will jumped a bit at the touch.

Alana strode into her classroom and began the lecture on psychosis, almost half an hour late into the period. At the end of her morning classes she used her lunch period to track down a pair of shoes, as she was barefoot from her incident on the staircase. Be as it may, by the time her day ended she was drained, physically and mentally. Her feet ached from wearing a pair of old tennis shoes that were too small, though, she was grateful to one of the nurses who spared her second pair; she was hungry and slowly going through caffeine withdrawal.

Head pounding, she slid behind the wheel of her car and rubbed her temples. _This must be how Will feels,_ she thought bitterly as she pulled out of the driveway. The snow came down heavy, coating her windshield the minute she was out of the garage. She flipped her windshield wipers on full gear and scowled at the large globs of snow that collected in her line of vision. If she were anywhere else, she would watch the snow and smile at its' beauty; but as it was, she was trying to drive through it, which caused nothing but havoc.

Her car started to whine about forty into her journey home. Alana ran her tongue nervously over her bottom teeth and stroked her steering wheel.

"Come on, old girl, you'll be okay," she whispered: she was half way there.

No matter how much she prayed, though, she knew what was happening when her cat shuttered to a stop on the side of the road. With a scream that surprised even her, Alana hollered at her car and slammed her palms against the wheel. The car was dead: no heat, no lights, no anything. To her dismay, her car wasn't the only drained object.

Her phone wouldn't turn on. Dead as a doornail. She cursed the stars and got out of the car, (resisting the urge to kick the tire) and wrapped her arms around her self, trying to be protected from the bitter winds. It took her about twenty minutes to locate a highway, and when she did, there was no one on it. The snow came down like thick, king-sized frozen tears; it didn't surprise her that nobody was out driving.

Finally, forty-five minutes after her car died, she managed to wave over another driver. She watched him lumber out of his truck and swallowed her words.

Alana had never been the type to judge, but this man was a sigh: greasy hair collected in the nape of his neck (or, more accurately, necks) and a beer belly that moved with every stinking step. With a hard swallow, Alana forced a smile.

"You lost, lady?"

"No. No, my car broke down and my phone died. Do you have a cell phone I could use?" Screw a ride home.

The man spit off to the side and pulled out small, dinosaur age cell phone. Careful not to get too close, Alana took the phone and quickly dialed the number. When the ringing stopped she turned a bit away and whispered quietly.

"Hello?"

"Hi. It's me, Alana."

"Oh. Uh, yeah, Hi." Will coughed and she heard the _click clack_ of dog nails on the other end; she took a strange sense of comfort in the sound.

"Can you do me a favor?"

"Sure?"

"I need you to look up a tow-truck company really fast. My car and phone died and I'm stranded on a back road."

"I don't have a phone book," he mumbled. Alana pushed her palm into her eyes.

"Oh_._"

"Where are you?"

"Uh," Alana said, leaning over to get a look at the sign. "I'm on Port Road, about a mile in."

"That's about, mm, twenty minutes from my house. I could come and take you home…?"

Alana breathed hot sigh of relief. "Thank you so much."

"Don't mention it. See you in a few." Will hung up before she could respond and Alana smiled tightly at the trucker.

"Thanks."

"Yep." He waddled away, hopping into his vehicle. Alana didn't bother to watch him leave; instead she hurried back to her car and shut herself inside, trying to stop her haunting shivers. Her teeth chattered erratically, sending painful vibrations into her jawbone.

_Knock knock._

Alana jumped, hitting her head on the roof of her car. She looked over and saw Will standing outside, snow collecting in his burnt hazelnut curls. With a smile she swung the door open and got out.

"Thank God," she mumbled. Will smiled tightly and then gave her a once over, shaking his head.

"Did you know its almost negative fifteen degrees outside right now, and you're wearing a fall jacket?" he mused, leading her to his car. Alana slid in, grateful for the heating system, and wrapped her arms around herself.

"I wasn't-t planin-n-ning on this hap-peninn-ning," she responded numbly, teeth chattering like a wind up toy. Will shot her a sympathetic look and turned up the heat more before shrugging off his own winter jacket.

"Take yours off. Its damp, it'll just make you colder."

Alana didn't object, and she wrapped the fluffy coat around her. It struck her that she recognized Will's scent; not only that, she found comfort in the deep, musky Will-smell. She buried her face in the sleeve and Will smiled.

"How far is your house?"

She grimaced. "About forty minutes from here."

Will looked through the tiny frame that his windshield made and bit his lip. Neither of them had a doubt about what the other was thinking: the snow was still coming down like there was no tomorrow, and Will's house was only a handful of miles away. He opened his mouth to speak, closed it again, then tried again, searching for the right words.

"Do you remember that one time you said you'd like to cozy up with my dogs?"

Alana laughed, pushing the damp hair from her face. "Yes."

"Er, now would be a good time, maybe? I mean, this weather isn't safe to drive in, and I'm nervous just trying to get _here,_" he said, trailing off.

He felt Alana's hand on his knee and looked up, managed to hold her gaze for a few moments. "Your house is fine, Will."

Will smiled tightly and nodded. They were silent the rest of the way to his house. When they walked through the door, they were greeted by a parade of dogs. Winston immediately came and stuck his nose into Will's palm, nuzzling his cold hand with a content sigh. Alana took a deep breath, thankful to be somewhere warm and safe. She turned to the shy sound of Will's voice.

"You can take my bed," he said, motioning her up the stairs.

"No, I'll take the couch."

"Are you sure?"

"Just as long as I can sleep with a dog," she joked, but Will smiled.

"The dogs sleep wherever, usually. Though," he said, looking down at the gold and brown-specked dog that wagged at his heel, "Winston usually sleeps in my room."

Alana nodded and ran her fingers through the fur of the small mutt who had their head balanced on her lap. "Anyway, I'll give you the tour. Come'n."

She followed Will up his groaning stairs and noticed when he skipped the top one; the action filled her with a sudden warmth, because she realized how well he knew the house and how comfortable he must feel here. When she stepped on it, the stair gave a small squeak and she understood his small leap.

"This is the bathroom, my room, attic staircase… kitchen is right below us," he said, running a finger along the faded woodwork. "If you wanna shower or whatever, towels are in the hallway closet. There are already blankets on the couch, but if you get cold there are more in the closet beside couch. I think there's an extra pillow, too." Will turned to face her and she smiled.

"Thanks a lot, Will. You saved me."

"It's no trouble." He watched Alana run her finger along the waistband of her skirt; such a casual motion that he would see her do countless times a day, but this time something occurred to him. "Do you want a pair of sweat pants or something? To sleep in?"

"That would be great," she breathed. Will nodded and she followed him into his bedroom. She noted his bed, halfheartedly made and a towel sitting on the nightstand. A lamp with a fish swimming on the shade, and it made her smile a little. She looked away when Will held out a pair of worn gray sweats and an old college tee. Grateful, she took them and smiled.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." Will ran his fingers through his hair and stretched. Alana saw his shirt come up and looked away from the spot of skin that showed over his belt, blushing slightly. "I'm gonna get some sleep. There's a TV and book, and food in the kitchen if you get hungry. Make yourself at home, as they say," Will said, scratching at a space between his shoulders.

"Thanks. Sweet dreams," she said, walking from the room.

"G'night." Alana heard him call from the room, and she heard the light thump of a shirt hitting the ground. She padded softly down his stairs and settled herself on the couch, comforted by the timid whines of the dogs.


	2. Chapter 2

Alana woke in the dark, breathless from being pulled suddenly from sleep. She shot up, turning her body to try and find the source of the loud thumping she had just heard. Had Will fallen out of bed? Does he do that?

Something wet and cold pressed into her open hand and she startled. Looking down, she saw Winston whining with his tail between his legs; he looked scared. Alana placed her hand on Winston's head and swung her legs off the couch.

_Crash._

She looked around and saw the porch door swinging in the wind, the hinges groaning as it slammed into the doorframe.

"What is it?" she whispered to the dogs as they crowed around the door. The smallest one gave a small, clipped yelp and Alana leaned towards the door to look outside. The snow had stopped, instead replaced by freezing sleet that pounded against the porch. Shivering, Alana went to go close the strong wood door when she noticed something moving outside.

The first thought she had was to go tell Will that someone was outside, but when she looked a little harder, she recognized the dark hair and the deep curve of their shoulders and she cursed. Frantically, she pulled on her coat and shoes, opening the door and bracing herself against the cold.

"Will!" she yelled, but he didn't turn around. Winston bounded past her and began jumping at Will's heals; that's when Alana noticed that not only was Will in nothing but underwear and an undershirt, he wasn't wearing any shoes.

The sleet felt like it was cutting into her flesh as she ran off the porch and skidded into a stop in front of Will. She placed a hand on his chest and tried to get a look at his face. Will's eyes were half closed, lips slightly parted in what looked like a dreamlike state. Cursing her self for not waking up sooner, she gave Will a firm shove to get him headed back towards his house. He didn't respond, just stood rooted in the spot and staring at the field in front of him.

"Will! Come on!" Alana yelled over the wind. She wrapped her fingers around his arm and began to drag him towards the house.

When she managed to get him to his porch, he tripped on the top step and caught his forehead on the edge of the stair rails. She caught him before he hit the ground, and led his half conscious self into the house. Alana dumped Will onto the couch and panted heavily.

Almost immediately, Will started to shiver. His teeth chattered so hard Alana was sure he was in pain. She sighed. Running her fingers through her wet hair, she bounded up the stairs and began filling the tub with warm water. The only thought that she could currently manage was that she needed to get Will warm, and fast. When she got back downstairs Will had curled up into a miserable ball on the couch, half asleep and with blood dripping into his brow.

"Come on, Will," she said softly, willing him up the stairs.

She didn't bother with his clothes, instead making sure he didn't fall when he got into the water. Will shivered still and Alana cupped water in her hands and poured it down his neck, because she knew he was sensitive there.

That sure woke him up.

He jumped, shuddering and wet, and started screaming. Alana recognized the distant look in his eyes and realized that he must still me partially in his dream. With trembling hands she pushed the hair from his face and cupped his cheek.

"Will? Can you hear me?"

Alana caught his wrists in her firm grip when he tried to push her away and she screamed his name so loudly that even the dogs stopped whining. Will started gasping, as if he were choking on air. His eyes searched the room hungrily, as if he couldn't remember where he was; Alana knew that he probably didn't remember.

"I… what are…?" he stammered, shoulders beginning to shake. Alana reached between his shivering thighs and pulled the plug, watching the water drain. Without speaking she draped a towel around his shaking form. She shushed him when he tried to say that he was fine, because Alana very well knew that he wasn't.

"I'm going to go make something to drink while you get into dry clothes," Alana said quietly, glancing down at his damp boxers that were sticking to his legs. Will wrapped the towel around himself. Shivered.

"Not thirsty," he muttered.

"I don't care, you need something to warm you."

"You don't have to do–"

"Just get something warm and dry on, okay?" Alana asked softly, letting her hand rest on his neck. He leaned into the touch, suddenly yearning for warmth, but mostly for human contact. Will nodded.

Ten minutes later, Alana carried two mugs of warm milk upstairs. She lingered in the doorway of Will's room, where he sat on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. His shoulders shuck. At first Alana assumed he was still shivering, but she began to listen a little harder and realized that Will was crying. From the small space in between them, Alana watched as Will drew his forearm across his face. He sat up and looked over in her direction, tensing when he saw her; Will hadn't heard her come upstairs.

Alana handed Will a mug and took a seat next to him. Neither of then said a word, spare for Will thanking her for the drink.

"I'm sorry," Will murmured after a while.

"For what?"

"Waking you up… you must be cold, not to mention tired…" he trailed off, staring at his mug and trying to calculate his thoughts between the pulsing in his head and the turning of his stomach. He set the mug on the nightstand and put his head back in his hands.

"I'm not worried about me, Will," Alana said softly. She rested her hand on his back, feeling the notches in his spine with her palm.

"I don't want you to be worried about me," he whispered fiercely.

"What's wrong?"

Will put his head up and laughed; bitterly, sourly, and it make Alana hurt to hear him like that. "Specifically?"

"Sure. Just tell me what's bothering you."

She watched Will's eyes become dark. "I'm tired."

"I know that's not all."

Alana tried not to be startled by Will suddenly standing up and pacing. She watched the nervous flicker of his eyes and the way he pulled his hand through his damp hair. "I get inside all these minds, Alana, and it's getting harder and harder to get out. I'm trapped. Everyone that sees me either thinks that I'm a nut job or a damn science project. Jack… oh, don't even get me started on how he treats me: like I'm some special weapon that still isn't worth a pile of shit. I have nothing going for me, and you can't possible understand that." Will swallowed hard and turned his back to Alana, unexpectedly dizzy. He used his hand against the wall as a brace. "I royally screwed things up with you. You, the one person who thought that maybe I was halfway decent, and I just went ahead and… oh, god," Will muttered the last two words, letting his head rest against the wall. He sighed, trying to fight against the weight inside his head.

He felt Alana's hand on his back and leaned away, although every fiber in him wanted nothing more that the opposite. Feeling her this close to him… he bit his lip and tried to choke back the sob that built under his chin. Will felt his walls crumbling down around him, crashing into him like acidic waves.

Alana saw his shoulders start to shake and she wrapped her hand around his arm, leading him to the bed. She sat him down and without speaking pulled his head forward so that it rested on her chest, just below her neck. Will sighed, half groaning from the pain, and didn't bother to wipe his tears away. He hid his face in Alana's shirt –well, his, since he let her borrow it. Even through the worn fabric he could smell her, and it shocked him how much it hurt: it was like getting punched in the gut.

"I'm so tired," he whispered, and Alana made a soothing sound in the back of her throat.

Alana unwrapped her arms from Will's body and gently pushed him back into bed, crawling under the covers with him; she curled up on his chest, comforted by the protection of his arms encircling her. Will didn't object, just let his body relax against her own; he didn't speak, and neither did Alana. He breathed, hot and broken, into her hair– she would never admit to anyone how much that both pained her and completed her.

His soft voice startled her. "We could be like milk and honey," Will breathed into her ear.

"How?" she asked, smiling at the sleepy slurring of his words. He tightened his arms around her waist.

"'Cause we'll put each other to sleep and keep us warm. Milk and honey."

Alana rolled under his arm and buried her face into his chest.

"Milk and honey," she murmured into his collarbone.


	3. Chapter 3

**a/u: I don't know how to change the rating... so this is your warning that it gets a little dirty. (i'm so bad with things like this idkidkidk)**

It was early when Will woke, shivering and unsure of where he was. There was a deep, heavy weight on his chest; in his half dreaming state, it reminded him of the feathered stag. He turned his head and then groaned quietly from the light hitting his eyes. Shivering, he reached around for a blanket and came in contact with something else: skin. Will didn't dare open his eyes; this was just a dream. nobody was at his house with him.

Or…

Peaking out of one eye, he glanced down at the arm that was tossed around his broad chest; followed it up and let his gaze fall over the pale skin of their neck. He reached up and brushed their dark hair from their face.

Alana.

He gasped a little; watched her stir. Without moving his head, he glanced over at the clock and read the time. Will, careful not to disturb Alana, then clambered out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom.

A sigh escaped his lips when the water hit him. He let himself briefly lean against the wall of the shower, the steaming water rolling off of his body. The previous night was a blur. Will remembers being cold, terribly cold, then little blotches of things: guiding touches; someone saying his name; the feel of their hands on his back, warm and steady. He remembers getting into bed and feeling Alana curl around him, and he turned the water up so that it almost burned him.

Alana woke up the sound of the shower; a hissing noise that floated down the hall and into Will's room. Yawning, she rolled over and spent a moment staring at the place that Will had slept. She smelled his sweat and wondered vaguely if he had had a nightmare last night; if so, he didn't show it. She had been curled around him the entire night.

_So much for distance,_ her inner-physiatrist thought bitterly. Alana climbed out of bed and walked downstairs, watching Will as he let the dogs out and stood on the porch. She noted his hair, wet and beginning to curl at the nape of his neck; saw the small wet patch between his shoulder blades where he must have been wet when he put the shirt on. Will sighed and leaned against the doorframe, waiting until his dogs were all inside before closing the door. He looked up and met Alana's eyes for a second before dropping his gaze.

"Jack called. No work today– too much snow."

"I figured," Alana said softly, mimicking Will and leaning against the wall.

"Breakfast?" he offered, motioning to his kitchen. Alana smiled and followed him.

They ate in silence. Cheerios and coffee, and toast that neither of them touched. Alana noted that Will put a splash of milk in his coffee and a spoonful of sugar; she realized that he liked it sweet. Though, Alana drank hers black and bitter. Peering at him over the edge of her mug, she saw his eyebrows knit together and his lips part; he tried to speak but was at a loss for words.

"Last night…" he began.

"What about it?"

"What did… what happened?"

Alana titled her head to the side, messy curls falling over her shoulder. "You don't remember?"

"Bits and pieces. You came over, I remember, because your car had broken down. Did I… did we…."

"I woke up to find you sleepwalking," Alana said gently. Will's hands twitched against his mug. "You were outside in the sleet, and you were freezing, so I put you in a hot bath."

Will's head snapped up, blood rising to his pallid cheeks. His mouth opened as if he wanted to say something.

"In your clothes. Will," Alana assured. "And you… you were disgruntled. And still cold, so I slept with you. For warmth," she said. No need to mention that she could have just summoned up one of his dogs, or gotten extra blankets.

Will nodded. "I'm sorry," he said softly.

"For what?"

"Everything. God, I thought that I had…"

Alana choked on her coffee, the realization of what he thought hitting her flat in the face. "_Oh_."

He put his face in his hands, sighing shakily. Alana reached across the table and laid her hand on his arm. "I would never forgive myself if you did something like that and you didn't really want to," he said, voice muffled by his hands.

Alana didn't tell Will anything that she began to think; about how many times she had thought about those few kisses, or what it would be like to go further with Will: what his skin would feel like over hers, what his breath felt like on her breastbone. Instead she wound her fingers around his hand and pulled it to her lips, planting a kiss on his knuckles. He looked up at her, a broken need for something more in his watery eyes.

"I should feed the dogs," he murmured, standing up.

Alana watched him go, impulse winding around her heart like a string. She stood and strode over to him. Will stood, finished with pouring the food, and set it down; he tilted his head in question seconds before Alana crashed into him like a wave. A surprised noise came from the back of his mouth, and he sank into the kiss, arms winding around her.

He moved forward, deepening the kiss, until she was pushed up against his wall. Alana laced her fingers around his waist, tugging needily at the hem of his shirt; he shook it off, his back still damp from his shower. She led him to the stairs, her eyes beseeching him to follow her up them, and he did. His skin was warm against Alana's; they fell into his bed. His hands clawed at the waistband of her pants, and she kicked them off.

Will crawled on top of her, his pulse pushing through his shirt and vibrating Alana to the core. She felt his hipbones, rough against the silky texture of her underwear, as he settled on her and pressed his lips to hers. Beneath her palms, she felt Will shiver when she let her hands wonder downward, fiddling with his belt. With a clumsy, shaking movement, she pulled his pants down, and he kicked them to the floor. His fingers pulled at her shirt; she let him undo her bra strap, her clothes landing in a pile on the floor.

He was warm– warmed that anything Alana had ever imagined. She felt him against her, heart pounding, as she shed her last piece of clothing, and him his.

"Are you sure?" he whispered against her cheek.

"Mm," she sighed, nodding against his lips.

She heard Will's fists contract beside her, the bed sheets a tangle in his hands– Alana gasped, hard, her fingers clawing at his back. Her breathing came in tuffs, and so did Will's, falling down her body like a stream. Palms against his back, she heard the head of the bed smack into the wall. It reminded her of her, at seventeen, loosing her virginity in her boyfriend's room while his parents were away. Alana was terrified, though she never told him. With Will, she realized, it was something else entirely.

His heart about exploded and he lay, panting, over Alana. Will's breathing was in her ear, hot and shaky. She took a moment to catch her breath, and Will pushed himself off of her so that he was lying beside her. They arms touched.

Again, they were both lost for words; and for once, Alana didn't feel the need for them. She rolled over and met Will's eyes; leaned into his touch as he stroked her face, gently, as if she were made of glass.

In that moment, she felt as if she were.


	4. Chapter 4

**a/u: sorry for switching POV. i'll be switching it back/forth for the rest of the story, since i'm going to continue it. enjoy.**

For a while neither of them speak, and they don't need to– and then something stirs in Alana, and she feels the need to tell the man next to her every thought she's ever had. Her stomach flutters and drops, wondering suddenly if Will feels nothing more than a physical attraction for her. She bites her lip and closes her eyes, thoughts creating a tornado in her mind.

Will's touch startles her out of her mania. He reached over and lets his hand fall on her upper thigh, tracing the lace of her underwear with his thumb. When she meets his eyes Will's smiling. It's strange, she realizes, that she's never seen him smile and mean it before this moment. She reaches over and lets her hand fall on his cheek, her hand scrapping the stubble.

"Are you alright?" he murmurs.

Alana nods. "Yeah."

Sighing, he rolls to his side and take a long glance at her; eyes traveling down her body in such a way that she almost feels as if she should feel violated, but something in his gaze calms her. When Will meets her eyes again, he's near confusion.

"You're so beautiful," he states, like it was the most common fact in the world.

Alana blushes and rolls then to face him, closing her eyes against his chest. She hums in the back of her throat; Will takes it as a reply and his arm falls heavy on her waist.

"I mean it." She feels his words more than she hears him, and she burrows into his chest. Will chuckles.

For a while more they're silent, until finally Will's phone starts buzzing.

"It's Jack," Will says, groaning, and is forced to roll away from Alana.

The chilliness of the room startles him as he crosses it, picking up on the last ring. He wraps him arms around himself.

"Hello?"

"Will. Have you spoken to Alana?" Jack asks quickly, and Will glances over at the brunette laying with her back to him; watches her steady breathing and smiles.

"Yeah, why?"

"Nobody's been able gotten a hold of her… I was worried that she didn't make it home last night."

"Uh, she didn't make it home," Will stammered, suddenly embarrassed, "but she's safe, don't worry."

"Well, where is she?"

Alana rolled over to face Will and began to laugh quietly, eyes closed in concentration as to not make a sound. She felt like a highschooler all over again, trying to keep quiet while she was in a boyfriend's room at night. Will pressed his hand over his eyes, grinning, and trying to keep quiet.

"She stayed over at my house. Her car broke down."

There was a lengthy silence on the other end. "Oh."

"Yep," Will said quickly, shifting his weight and glancing at Alana's shaking form. She flashed him a smile and he bit his lip.

"Well, I'll, uh, let you get back to… you. Conditions and roads should be better tomorrow, so I'll expect to see you both," Jack said, trying to get back on his high horse.

"We'll be there," Will said and hung up.

Alana's laughter rang out, bouncing off the walls and shocking Will. She glanced at him when she caught him staring and swallowed her laugh.

"What?"

"It's just that I've never heard you laugh," Will said.

She held out her hand to join him in bed, and he fell heavy into her arms.

–––

Jack's voice was rough and grating on Will's pounding head. "I need you to look and tell me what you see."

"I already told you, Jack, I can't see anything."

"Can't or won't? You always see _something._"

"Yeah, well, it's not always something that will help," Will snapped, and Jack advanced on him, breath hot on his already-hot face.

"I don't care if you don't think it will help, Will. I don't value your opinion on if you think it will help."

Will closes his eyes when Jack walks away, but he doesn't look . Instead he tries to push out the morphing of his memories: only one of them are his.

_Her lips were hot on mine, and for once, I wasn't the one who brought it on. No, Alana was the one who literally threw herself at me, and I didn't object, just let her scent soak in and think t–_

_**I imagine pulling out their teeth, one by one, as I watch them play. It's too cruel to be that innocent. The sun is setting, and sooner than later their parents will come for them, which is why I have to get them first. I want to be first. **_

_ –hat I was anywhere near decent enough for her. I let her lead me upstairs. Let her take my clothes off and undo hers. She's beautiful. So, so beautiful and half of me thinks that it's just a dream. Some kind of hot, wet dream because she let's me fall unto of her, thighs sticking together from the heat of us. She tastes like something sweet and she digs her teeth into my lip, and I gasp, thoughts scattering._

_**By the time their parents get to the playground to pick them up, the three of them are halfway across town, lying unconscious in my truck. The smallest one screamed too much, and I was so scared that someone would hear, and I'm frightened that I lay have killed her. I drive to the far end of town, taking a turn into an old abandoned house. My house. The first and last place I ever called home. **_

****_God help me, I'm loosing my mind, because nobody's touched me in so long. I mean, there have been advances from strangers, but there was never somebody like the woman below me. There was something beautiful about Alana, but it was something that rooted itself deep inside her, as if anchored to her soul. I felt her fingers dig into my back and that crazed me even more, my breathes coming hotter and faster until–_

_**They wake up when they're inside, naked, bloody and bruised. The small one doesn't wake up, and I check her pulse and push her hair from her dead face. Shame. They scream (they always do) but they're too far from town to be heard. There's a knife in my pocket, but I don't use it, not yet: I like the smell of fear. **_

****_–I'm almost screaming. Moaning, instead, nose pressed to the pillow by her ear and blood rushing from my head. Holy hell. I hear her catch her breath, smell her sweat and everything else, and I roll off of her. Lay next to her sweet form, watch her silently put her underwear back on and I do the same. I wonder is she's ashamed, but I swallow my questions. I can't read her. _

_** When I kill them, it's not fast: it's slow, and I make the others watch, because nothing is more beautiful that fearful blood on my hands. Their eyes–**_

****_And when she leaves later that afternoon, I still can't read her, but I wonder if she's regretting it, and I almost wish that it were a dream–_

_**–are think with dread and tears, mixing with everything else on their little faces. Soft skin and there's one with long, long hair, and I use it to lead her to me, knife bloody with her sister's insides. She doesn't scream, because she's finally–**_

_–because if it were a dream I could just wake up, and maybe I wouldn't be left aching. I can't do anything else, or so it feels, because I'm drowning in "what if's" and "should have been's"_

_ –__**accepted that she's going to die. She's smart, because understands that there is nothing left to do. I start with her eyes, so that she won't have to see it. Her blood runs from her eyes to my fingers, as if she was crying, and I was merely wiping away her tears.**_

****Will's stomach turns and he turns on his heal, pushing past the others and looses his lunch behind a tree. He braces himself against the low hanging branch, the bark pressing into his palms, and tries to steady himself; feels his shoulders shake and desperately tries to regain control of himself. Will knows that someone's coming, but he can't force himself to look at them, so he stumbles over to the porch steps and slouches against the railing, pounding head in hands.

He feels a hand pushing the hair back form his head but he doesn't want to open his eyes. When he does he's almost relieved to see Beverly instead of Hannibal or (God forbid) Jack.

"You sick?" she asks, taking a seat beside him.

"No, just… uh, touch scene," Will manages, heart still racing.

Again, he leans against the railing and rubs his eyes. He can feel Beverly looking at him, and he knows that he looks like complete shit; it occurs to him that he might have vomit on him and he groans, looking down at himself. Relieved, he finds himself clean but weary to move.

"Why don't you go home, get some rest? You've been here all day," Beverly says gently. Will shakes his head.

"No, I got an appointment with Dr. Lector."

Beverly nods and stands, hand held out for Will to take. For a moment he gauges it, then slides his into her own and stands, knees shaky. When they approach Jack, he presses his lips into a fine line and watches Beverly leave.

"Are you alright?" he asks.

Will almost laughs, but he doesn't have the energy. "Fine. I have an appointment, though…" Will trails off, feeling awkward in Jack's pitying gaze.

"Yeah, sure. Go get some sleep, too," Jack adds softly but sternly.

When Will gets to Dr. Lector's, his doctor notices how distant he is. He notes the small things after that as they sit in silence, like the fresh smell of mouthwash and the underlying scent of vomit; the way that Will's eyes seem hazy, as if he'd been drinking. Will slouched into Hannibal's chair, mind obviously a thousand miles away, and probably going a thousand miles an hour, judging by the nervous tapping of his fingers on the arm of the chair.

"What is it, my Will?"

Will snapped out of his own thoughts and looked at his doctor; he deliberated telling him the memory he was mulling over, but then shook his head and sighed.

"It's just the case," he muttered, bringing his hand up and rubbing his temples.

"Did something else happen?"

"No."

Hannibal leaned forward and tried to catch Will's fleeting glance. "How are things with you and Alana?"

His words were like a kick in the stomach; Will tried to get a grip on his reaction, but he was sure that Hannibal saw him flinch at the mention of her name.

"Fine. Good."

"Is that so?"

"We haven't talked in a few weeks," Will lied, remembering with clarity the night last week that she stayed the night.

"Mm."

Will stood, his body stiff and weary. "I should go."

Hannibal walked him out, as he always does, and Will smiled and thanked him, like he always does. But when he got into his car and drove home, he was cross examining himself as to why he had just lied to the person he was closest to.

It struck him suddenly that it was because he was embarrassed. Will was ashamed that no matter what he did, a bigger part of Alana would always remind her that he was unstable. And that larger part would be the part that took her away from him, had her call a cab– that was the part that left him standing on his porch with the feel of her still in his hands, her words still like punches in his gut.

_I'm sorry, Will. _


	5. Chapter 5

**a/u: i'm actually really happy i continued this. it's so much easier to write fanficion; gives me a break from my own work for a short period of time. as always, hope you like.**

When Alana returned from Will's, she stood motionless in her entryway for some time; then she began to cry. She cried because she was tired, and she cried because her head hurt from the fight with the tow-truck company over her car; and she cried because of how broken Will looked on his porch when she had left.

A part of her longed for her to stay, and to curl back up against Will's form; but a bigger part –her logical part– told her that her aching was nothing to act upon. But that rational part of her was so, so cold; and it froze her to the core. Alana Bloom was numb.

She went to work the next day, taught, ate lunch with her usual group– smiled at pointless jokes, listened to them complain about day to day tasks. And when Will walked in, looked at the food and left without anything but coffee, she swallowed the desire to follow him and wrap him in her embrace.

Will was, she decided, like a book that was beautifully written, but had been left out in the rain a day too long; or, in his case, a few years too long.

A week had passed since their night together, and Alana had done a great job of avoiding Will, until Jack called her into his office.

"Dr. Lector is busy with patients, and I need this guy analyzed," he explained as Alana took a seat.

Alana took the papers in her hands, recognizing the quick scrawl and feeling a kick in her chest. The way the 'g's were looped were so familiar that it burned.

_He thinks that he's some sort of warrior,_ Will had written, _and he's going to show everyone he can that he's a fighter. He's survived something, but I can't gather what. Look into miracle recoveries. _

Alana's words were slow and cautious, Will's handwriting still fluid in her mind.

**_Alana– I'm sorry if I did something that hurt you. _**_ Alana remembered finding the slip of paper under her office phone, folded twice. She could see where he had ripped something off of the bottom, but she had o idea what it could have been._

"–and he's scared, I think. Scared that something bad will happen again, no matter how hard he tried to fix himself," she says, just as the door opens.

She turns in her chair and tries to catch Will's gaze, but he drops it and bites his lip. "Yeah, exactly," he mutters, folding his arms across his chest and leaning against the wall.

Alana begins to access him by is reflection in the window. His hair is combed, yes, but he looks unkempt somehow; maybe it's the few days' worth of stubble across his strong jaw. Pale, but that's no surprise. He looks somewhat ill: feverish. Alana watches his lick his chapped lips and then he meets her eyes in the reflection, his gaze dark and weary.

"Maybe he was a plane crash survivor," Alana adds.

"Could be."

"That would be hard to work though."

"So I've heard."

Jack looks between the two of them, and Alana smiles and stands. "I should go, I have a class," she says, walking past Will and then turning to him. "So do you, right?"

Will sighs. "Yeah. See you, Jack."

Jack nods at the two and watches through his window the way that Will walks farther away then usual from Alana. He lost sight of them and returned to his work. As soon as they were out of earshot Alana stopped and turned to Will; he skidded to a stop, nearly running Alana down with his long stride.

"We need to tal–"

"I have a class to teach," Will interrupts, walking around her.

She reaches out and catches his wrist; feels the bones through his sweaty skin. "Will…"

"What?"

"I'm sorry," she begs.

"You didn't do anything," Will says gently, turning; he meets her eyes, with he layers the woeful gaze with something fake and plastic. It burns Alana to the core.

"I made a mistake, shouldn't have led you on."

"Yeah."

"Are you feeling alright?" she asks, seeing his rub a hand across the back of his neck.

"Peachy."

"You haven't been eating," she says accusingly.

"It's not your business, Alana," Will snaps suddenly. Alana turns away and walks to her classroom, fuming and angry with Will.

She teaches quickly, not bothering with questions until the end– her students notice her distress and instead file out of the room soundlessly, shooting her sympathetic looks. Alana sighs and sinks into her chair, head throbbing. She's too busy to notice the footsteps until they're about ten feet away, when they stop.

"I just wanted to say sorry, for, uh, snapping earlier. It's not your fault," Will says, more to the floor than to Alana.

She stands and walks so that she's directly in front of Will. Can't catch his eye. Alana reaches out to lay a hand on Will's arm and then stops, noticing him tense before she even touches him. Neither of them speak. Outside, it had started to rain; slow, lazy drops against the windowpane. Will startled Alana by reaching out, fingertips buzzing near her cheek.

"You have an eyelash on you," he mutters, letting his hand fall back to his side.

"I should make a wish," Alana says, silently wishing that he hadn't let his hand fall.

"You do that." Will turns and shoots her a tight, flat smile before walking out of the room.

Alana swallows her tears; doesn't even know why she's crying, for God's sake. She wraps her coat around her and drives home in silence, not bothering with the radio. By the time she makes it home she's shivering, because she hat forgotten to turn on the heat in her car. Striding into the house, she becomes heated and tears her cold clothes off, letting them fall into a pile on her bathroom floor. Something in her mirror catches her eye and she turns, running her eyes over a fading love bite on the back of her neck. Hardly there anymore; and just like everything else, she assured herself, it would fade back to normality.

That day was the last time Alana had seen Will in over a month. Both of their schedules were busy, shockingly so, and both of them tried to forget _that_ day. But sometimes when Alana has had a rough day, she finds herself digging through her nightstand drawer until she comes across his note, carefully tucked away inside her favorite book. She doesn't read it anymore, just lets her fingers play over the loops of his letters. It's been weeks since she's cried.

Hell, it's been weeks since she's felt anything at all– part of her likes this haze of anesthetized living. The other part of her is clawing at her head, because its' so tired of being dead.

––

Alana's done teaching for the day, getting ready to leave early, when Hannibal sticks his head in her room. Flashes her a smile. She invites him in, offering him a chair that he does not take. It strikes Alana as odd that Will physiatrist is paying her a visit, but she smiled and politely listens to him speak.

"Hello, Alana. I do hope you're well?"

"Oh, I'm my usual. You?"

Dr. Lector smiles. "I'm well, thank you. I was wondering," he began slowly, "if you've talked to Will in these past few days. He canceled his appointment yesterday, and the week before that."

Alana looks up from the floor and glances at Hannibal. "No; no, I haven't talked to him in about a month."

Dr. Lector tilts his head to the side. "Do tell me, Alana: did something happen between you two? Have a row? You've been close, I know, since I've known Will."

Alana swallows her voice, because she's afraid that it may crack. Instead she shakes her head and lies through her teeth.

"No. He's just been tired lately."

"Will is always tired."

"More so these past few weeks. There have been a lot of things with the ripper," she says, tossing her bag over her shoulder. "I don't mean to be rude, Hannibal, but I must go. Don't want to get caught in the snow," she said, motioning to the slow falling flakes outside.

"Of course, my dear Alana. Wouldn't want your car to break down in this weather." With a smile and handshake Hannibal was gone, just as quickly as he came.

Alana leaned against the wall; hand over her mouth and heart in her throat.


	6. Chapter 6

**a/u: thanks for the support with this story. sorry i'm bad with responding with feedback.  
also– beware of sensitive material. **

The first time Will called to cancel his appointment with Dr. Lector, it really way because he was sick. Feverishly, he had taken care of dogs and crawled into bed, head throbbing and joints aching.

Will went next week and also joined Hannibal for dinner; but he found that he had no appetite. He apologized profusely, but his doctor shushed him with a kind smile. When he sat him down in the kitchen and did dishes, he looked over his shoulder at Will and saw his head droop into his hands.

"Did you know," Hannibal said gently while placing a mug of tea by Will, "that lack of appetite is a sigh of depression?"

"Yes," Will muttered into his hands.

He felt Hannibal take a seat beside him and lay his arms on the table. "What happened, my Will?"

"I don't _know_," Will said, and he had never meant those three words more in his entire life.

Will started becoming detached at his appointments. He would wonder around the room, his fingers tracing the spines of books. Sometimes he would mull over cases with his doctor, but he couldn't bring himself to talk about the night with Alana. Even the thought of her now was like someone had set fire to his lungs.

The nights were the worst– he would wake screaming, swearing that she was the one under the knife. Will would fall out of his bed, trying to run, still half in the dream, from what he had done. More and more he would wake up outside. Shivering and damp, he would trudge inside and keep the growing pain to himself.

When he saw Alana for the first time in months, in the garage, he was surprised by how it felt. If you can imagine someone sticking a burning stake up through your chest, then you can put yourself in Will's place. He sat in his car until she left and then let himself cry for the first time. What he felt was a mystery to even him; he could empathize with everyone– everyone, that is, but himself.

And holy fucking hell did that hurt.

The forth time in a row that Will tells Hannibal he can't make it, Hannibal is more concerned than he is annoyed by his patient. He has understood now that something had happened between Will and Alana, but he couldn't place just what.

A one-night stand had crossed his mind, yes, but it struck the doctor that it was something much deeper than just sex that was plaguing them both.

He couldn't dwell on it long, though, because he was asked to assist them the next day at a crime scene. When he arrived, all soft shirts and combed hair, he was almost shocked to see how distant Will was from the world. Jack told him quietly that he's concerned about Will; said they found him sleepwalking three miles from his house the night before. Hannibal quieted with his hand and walked over to Will so that he wouldn't disturb him.

Meanwhile, Will was already a thousand miles away. Eyes closed, he stood in front of the body that was settled on a pair of antlers.

_Their body is like a temple– except I don't want to worship it. No, I want to trash it because I don't understand their ways. And trash it is what I do._

_I want their heart, first, because that's where our impulses seem to dwell. Then I start on their bellybutton, cutting down until I find the femoral artery– I divide it like I am Moses, parting the Red Sea in my glory. They're already dead when I do this, but I doubt they would have been able to stay conscious long enough to see much of their blood spill. It pools around them, dripping in think orbs off the antlers that they're perched upon. I've made art: a masterpiece. My design._

"It's a copycat," Will mutters. He jumps when he feels Hannibal's hand on his shoulder. "Didn't know you were coming."

"Jack asked me to."

"Huh," Will say, forcing a polite smile, and turns to go talk to Jack.

While he walks past, Hannibal takes a deep breath and goes a bit deeper than that dreadful aftershave– he detects what he would say is blood. A few hours old, and just a tiny bit. Of course, it could just be coming from the victim, but Hannibal follows Will with a weary gaze.

"You've been missing your appointments," Jack says, and Will puts his head down.

"I've been tired."

"Bedrock, Will," Jack reminds him sternly, planting a strong hand on Will's shoulder. Will shakes him off.

"I'm fine, Jack. I just have a lot going on."

"Like?"

"Life, work… just stuff," Will says absently, turning to walk back to his car.

Jack follows. "Just… take care of yourself, will you?"

"Always," Will replies and swings himself into his car.

By the time he gets home he's bone tired and aching. He crashes into bed, clothes a heap on the floor, and tumbles into sleep.

Will is used to nightmares, but this one catches him off guard. It's been months since he's dreamed this vividly. It's almost too clear; the colors too bright and franticly drilling into his mind.

_He knows that he's not at home, but he doesn't feel lost. The area is heavily wooded– Will hears water nearby, but when he gets closer he's overwhelmed by the noise. He tosses a rock in a stumbled back, the ripples sounding like a plane crashing. The noise tears at his ears, and he presses his hands to his ears. They come back bloody._

_Looking down, he realizes that what looked like stones on the bottom are actually people– they float to the top, open mouthed and bloated, and Will stumbled back. He can smell them. Hear them._

_"See. See."_

**Will stumbles out of bed, blurry eyed and heart pounding. Feels like he's going to pass out. He braces himself against the wall, still half in the dream, and tries to walk. His knees shake and he falls to the ground.**

_The trees become condensed– build a barricade, and Will can't back away from the bodies. The water rises._

_"See, now. See us."_

_He feels one wrap a hand around his arm. Feels the revolting 'squish' that their decaying flesh gives and shakes them off, his scream ripping out of him._

**He doesn't bother with a shower, instead turning his faucet on full blast. The water is freezing and he splashes it on his face. Some runs down his shirt, making goose bumps rise on his stomach. He realizes that he's screaming and wills himself to stop. It hurts his throat. Instead he moans, sinking to his knees and trying to rip himself out of his dream.**

_There are so many people and water, freezing, around his ankles. It's still rising. More people touching him, their rotting fingers in his hair and pulling at his face. Their breath is putrid. Will begins to shake, because he's beginning to look past the purple hues and recognizes people he knows._

_Hobbs. Jack. Hannibal. Beverly, Price. Alana. Abigail. His parents. His first girlfriend. His vet._

_Then Alana's pulling at his soaking clothes, screaming, or trying to, because her voice is just a mess o mushy syllables._

_The water is rising._

**Will knows he needs to feel something real. Something that will shock him out of his dream. He slaps himself, hard, but it doesn't so much as shake him. He punches his legs; his arms; his stomach. Nothing. The dream is eating him alive. Will groans, knotting his fingers through his sweat-soaked hair.**

_The water is sloshing around his neck, now, his shivers making it hard to swim. There's something pulling at his feet, threatening to pull him under. Some of the murky water slips between his lips and suddenly he's choking, gasping in the dreadful air._

**Shaking, Will pulls himself to a standing position. Deep breath. He rifles through his cabinet until he pulls a hardly opened box from the top shelf. A present from his grandfather. He slips it out of its' silky case and holds the razor up to the light. Hardly used.**

_More water in his lungs. It burns. They're tugging him harder now, and he's so tired of fighting, so he lets them drag him under. Will is submerged in the filthy stream, the water flooding his lungs. Vision blurry. Thoughts no longer important. Only water._

_**Shick.**_

Will hears the cut more than he feels it. There's only one– it's straight across his thigh, the blood making a tiny river down his leg. He's shaking still; worse now that there's blood. He cleans the straight razor and puts it back in its' case, then looks down at his leg. There's a bit of blood pooled by the soles of his feet, but it's not much.

He's never felt clearer. The pain shocked him, and shocked him well– he was in the present moment. No more Hobbs; no more thinking. The night with Alana seemed dulled, now– more like a numb throbbing than an open wound.

What's one more scar, anyway?


	7. Chapter 7

**a/u: i promise the next chapter will be very feel-y **

The next time Alana sees Will, he's literally on his knees.

Jack's forensic team had been at a scene (Will, too) when Jack says he wants this man profiled. Again, Hannibal is with a patient. Again, no, it can't wait. Alana leaves right after her class, silently thankful that it's a short day, and drives the few miles to the crime scene.

There's blood everywhere, but this isn't really a shock to Alana. What really gets her is that there's blood on practically every surface but the body itself. It layers the walls like paint, spreading over the dining room table like it was nothing more than a tablecloth. The victim is scrubbed clean, naked, and sitting at the head of the table. Her hair is red, like fire, and her eyes were open– swirling hazel. Hands folded neatly in her lap as if she had just finished praying.

Due to the lack of blood, it was hard to find out how she had died– they eventually found a bullet hole in the back of her skull; her hair had been combed neatly, so that it fell lightly over the passageway to her brain. Alana didn't get too close before she saw Will. Her heart sped up a little; she licked her lips, watching his curls fall backwards as he tipped his head backwards.

He stood about five feet from the victim, one arm outstretched as if to touch her face. Everyone else hovered back, most leaving, as Will took a deep breath and plunged himself in.

Alana wished that she could see into Will's mind; see what he saw. Of course, she knew that she would be scarred by what she witnessed. She lingered around the outskirts of the room, waiting for Will to pull himself out of the killer's mind so that she could get this over with.

The second Will flung himself into the other mind, he knew something was off– there was no count off, just one bug leap and _bam: _there he was. Will's recollections were scattered; he couldn't quite place anything.

He felt the movements but he didn't see himself doing them. There were tidbits of conversations falling into his ears, but Will was lost in who they belonged to.

_"I said this wouldn't work." _

_ "You don't know anything a–"_

"_Who's that?"_

_ "That's just terrible, Sweetie."_

Will felt the bruises, felt the pulling of his hair, and that's when he realized his mistake: he wasn't in the right head.

_There was someone approaching him, but it was too dark to see._

Will needed to get out of here. Maybe try again.

_Their footsteps are heavy, thoughtful. Almost weary. he know who they are but he can't call up a name._

Or maybe not. Once a day is enough for him.

_Will's under the table; he can see their feet. Cheap shoes made to look expensive. There was a scuff on the side, like he had kicked something recently, scrapping the top layer of the shoe. They stopped right beside Will; he could hear their breathing, long and mechanical. _

Will's hand dropped and then he raised it again. He couldn't pull himself out. Trapped.

_When they see him, they don't bend down right away. He tries to back away, out the other end of the table, but as soon as he moves he feels a hand on his ankle, pulling him out. He screams, fingernails scraping the wood floors– long splinters dig up under his nails, blood dripping onto the carpet. The man grabs his hair, pulls him until he's standing. Punches him._

Alana looks over and sees Will start to sway.

_Again. Blood drips from his lips. There's a butt of a gun slamming against his temple, and more blood drips on his face. It's warm, freakishly so. Then there's a hand under his throat, crushing his windpipe. He gasps, splintered fingernails trying to get at the arm around his neck, but he can't get a grip, because there's just not enough air to fuel him._

She turns to ask Jack if he's okay, but she finds that she's alone with him. He starts to shake.

_His vision is white around the edges. Finally he's let go, thrown to the floor– feel's his knee's begin to bruise already._

Will drops to his knees, and Alana slowly walks over. He's caught himself on his palms; breathing rugged and uncontrolled. She wonders if maybe she should help him, but she has no idea how.

"Will?" she says quietly.

_There's another voice, but it's not coming from Will, and it's not coming from the man. Will spins around, hopeful, only to feel the cold edge of the gun against his neck. The man's voice us gruff._

_ "Up."_

_ Will does as he says. The man is tall, maybe six'two, and he cups is face. His grip is threatening, fingernails digging into his jaw. Will feels the gun against his head again._

Will's making a small noise in the back of his throat, like he was pleading. Sighing, Alana gets down on her knees in front of Will. His eyes are closed, head sweaty and shoulders shaking.

"Will? Can you hear me?"

_Will tries to pull himself out again. Anything then to get shot in the head. Doesn't want that kind of pain. Doesn't need it._

Alana cups Will's face in her hand, whispering again. Although Will can hear her voice, hear it clearly, he can't find his way back. He vaguely wonders if when you die in a dream, you die in real life, too. Alana's hand is cool on his face: refreshing. She smells like wildflowers.

**_Blam._**

The man fires and Will gasps, eyelids fluttering open before he slumps forward. He reaches out to catch himself, but his hands are tangled by someone's shirt; his head collides with their shoulder, nose resting into the nook of their neck. His heart is pounding, vibrating him so badly he feels like he's going to break in half.

Alana feel's Will calm down, slowly, and then tense. His shoulders become like rocks under her hands and he pulls himself backwards, vision a blur of colors.

"Are you okay?"

Abruptly, Will stands up and stumbles away from Alana, who stands up and hold out her hands to him. He glances at them and then studies himself on the table; blood sloshes out from underneath his palm and he cringes.

"Will?" Alana asks again, but Will is already out the door, knee's weak and his hair damp with sweat.

Alana lingers in the room until the rest of the forensic team enters. If they notice Alana's buried look of distress, they don't mention it, and so Alana hangs back and waits for Jack.

"Where's Will?" A voice behind her makes her jump.

"I thought we went to go to you," Alana says to Jack.

"I haven't seen his since he did his…." Jack waves his hand in the direction of the body. "Dammit," Jack swore, fishing his phone from his pocket.

When he was ready to call, Beverly called him over– said that she had found a lock of hair that they could use to identify him and that they didn't really need Will. Jack stalked away, muttering, and Beverly caught Alana's eye and jerked her head towards the door; a silent message that she was free to go.

She didn't need to be told twice.


	8. Chapter 8

**a/u: "I'm not the killing type, but I could kill to make you feel."**

He couldn't breathe. Panic had set in quickly, choking him first with his full on-empathy of the victim, and then with his close encounter with Alana. Will pressed his hands to his eyes, shaking, biting back tears. Motherfucker. He had to get out of here.

There was nobody by the back door and he slipped out of it; the bitter wind biting at his lips. He concentrated on breathing, or tried to, because he could feel the beginnings of a panic attack set in: heart racing; head pounding; nauseous; lightheaded. Will knew his problem was that he wasn't getting enough air into his blood to carry to the rest of his body, but he felt like there just wasn't enough air.

After a while he calmed enough to process his thoughts. He knew that if he went back in there, Jack would make him do it all over again; and Will wasn't all that sure that he could handle it. He would go to Hannibal, but he was tied up with other patients. Will's pulse began to accelerate again when he realized how alone he was. He forced himself to breathe, to stay calm; he was a grown man. He could take care of himself.

Will waited until everyone was inside before slipping into his car and driving home.

It had begun to snow again, but it was nothing more than tiny flakes that melted the second they hit the ground. More than anything, it was windy. The breeze took Will's hat off the second he stepped out of his car, and when he walked into his house he dropped it on the radiator to dry

He stood in his house for a moment, adjusting to the silence. All the dogs remained quiet as if they were aware of their owners' displacement. Will went through his usual routine of petting and feeding the dogs before taking a few shots of whiskey and heading upstairs.

For a long while he lay in bed, his body teasing him with the idea of sleep, before he finally groaned and rolled out from underneath his covers. Will made his way downstairs and took a few sleeping pills he had in the kitchen, and washed it down with more whiskey. Buzzed, Will decided that it was a shame to leave it with only a few glasses left and carried it upstairs with him.

When the bottle was empty he set it on his nightstand and rolled over onto the bed, the walls dancing before his eyes. His breathing was slow and lazy as he again tumbled off of his bed and made his way downstairs, watching the snow from his living room window. They left little trails on his window; he remembers imagining them racing them when he was a boy. Will remembers lots of things.

Snow begins to turn to rain.

––

Alana is half way home when she pulls over, thoughts a giant ball of "what if's". Head in her hands, she considers the illogical; her inner doctor screaming in her ears. Outside, cars zoom past her.

She bites her lip, hard, the pain clearing her thoughts for a brief second. With a sigh she turns the car around and instead starts driving towards Wolf Trap.

_Just to make sure he's alright, _ she tells herself.

––

The rain begins to look inviting after a while– the way it sounds is comforting (it always has been) and the way it smells gives Will a slightly numb feeling, and so he opens his door and takes a deep breath.

It smacks him in the face. He's not even off of his porch before he's soaked to the bone and gasping for breath. Will staggers inside, rain water dripping from his hair, and tries to block out someone else's memory.

_They don't mean to kill me. They just wanted to play a game. _

Just like that, Will is some nameless child, and he lurches towards his staircase. He doesn't want to be the victim, not again.

_I don' remember much. I can recall their hands on the back of my neck and my head being shoved into the cold lake. The water smelled like shit. After a few seconds they pull me up, gasping and retching. _

Will hauls himself up using the railing. Shivering. The actions feel oddly familiar, as if he'd been in this moment before. He feels the whiskey burn at his throat but he swallows– wants to stay strong throughout this.

_Down again I go. I try to relax, play dead, because that's what they do in the wild, right?_

No time for a breakdown. Not this time.

_They don't believe me, but they pull me up again, laughing. There's tears and algae on my face, and one of them slaps me. When I go to scream I'm back in the water._

Will falls to his knee's in his hallway, disorientated. Where was he? He had come upstairs for something but he had lost what it was.

_So cold. It burns my eyes and I scream again, my little bubbles coming back up to my face. I'm pulled up for the last time and inhale the water, coughing, and they have me back again before I can breathe. _

_ When I go limp, I'm not dead– just unconscious. But they don't know that. They're scared. I can kinda hear them yelling, but I can't tell them that I'm okay. _

Will reaches his bathroom and collapses again, leaning his face against the cool tile walls. Breathes.

_Can't tell them that they don't need the boat or the cinderblocks to weight me down. _

Clarity hits him for a moment and he pulls himself up, the sink protesting his weight, and digs through his cabinet. Cold metal in his palm.

_Can't tell them that I'm still alive. Can't tell they that I don't want to die._

Will sinks back down and pressed the old razor to his thigh, right under the healing cuts from previous weeks, and presses down. Like always, he's jerked back to himself after a few seconds. Blood runs over his thigh and pools on the ground. Makes him shiver.

––

Alana's headlights wash over Will's house. She sees the lights on in the living room and upstairs and she takes a deep breath before stepping out into the rain.

––

He can't place what it is that makes him continue the cutting. Will isn't doing this slicing for clarity, or for placement– he's mindless, concentrating only on making the lines parallel.

More blood rushes under him but he keeps going, wiping away the rubies that form on his thighs. He's warm, so warm, and he stops for a second, evaluating his leg. Will wipes away the blood, smearing it on his skin, and sighs shakily. He's definitely awake.

––

Alana calls for Will when she steps onto the porch. She finds the door ajar and then slowly lets herself in, quieting the whining dogs at her heels.

The room is lit only by a lamp in the far corner. It casts shadows over the room, and she nearly trips over the couch as she makes her way to the staircase. Heart pounding, she pulls out her cell and plugs in the number for the police but doesn't press call– just in case.

She skips the step that Will always skips because it squeaks, and then looks down the hall. There's a light on in the bathroom, and when she gets closer she can see Will's back against the wall, blood beneath him.

Alana is about ready to call the police when she catches a glimpse of what's in Wills hand. The razor is coated in a dripping layer of blood– the same blood that was falling freely from Will's leg.

It took her a moment to put the pieces together. The second she figured it out was the second Will rolled his head to the left and saw her.

He jumped up, slipping and catching himself on the sink. Bloody hand and bloody feet, he shut the door before he remembered that there was no lock. Will braced his back against the door, heart hammering, trying to block out Alana's voice.

"Will!" she yelled through the wood.

Will managed to slide the razor back into the box and into the cabinet. It was bloody still, but that could be cleaned. Dizzy, he looked down at his leg and took a good look– surely it couldn't be that bad. Alana must just be worked up.

When he looked down, Will took in the damage he had done to his thigh. The gashes ran from his upper thigh, right beneath his hip, to his mid thigh. They criss-crossed in some places, blood still running freely down his body. There was a mess of blood on the floor. It made Will sick to look, and he staggered away, vision blurring.

Alana threw open the door and rushed to him, but Will couldn't understand a word she said. He felt her hand on his thigh, something about the artery in his leg, and swallowed a sob that built in his throat.

"Oh, Will," Alana murmured.

She smelled the liquor on his breath as he tried to talk, but his words were jumbled and frantic. All she could made out was a broken apology. His skin was hot but his body shaking and she led him wordlessly down his stairs and to the kitchen.

He stumbled along with her and she seated him in a chair with one hand, the other occupied with the medical supplies she had gathered form his bathroom. For a while she couldn't do anything but clear away the blood on his trembling thigh.

"How long has this been going on?" she asked gently after she had begun to dress the wounds.

Will shook his head, eyes glassy.

"Talk to me, Will. I want to make sure you're not in shock."

"I'm not," Will muttered, licking his lips nervously.

"Are you drunk?"

"No."

"Will."

"Maybe."

Alana looked up and almost laughed at the childlike expression Will wore, with is bottom lip in between his teeth and his arms crossed across his chest. "Do only do tis when you drink?"

"No."

"So you know what you're doing, then?"

"I don't want to talk about this," Will breathed, gently pushing her hand off of his thigh, because his body was beginning to react to her touch; don't want a repeat of last time.

Alana caught his hand and held it for a moment before he pulled away. He thanked her for the bandages and tried to stand, only to stumble and catch himself half on the table and half on Alana.

"Apologizes," Will whispers in her ear.

"I'm so sorry." Alana blurts out.

"You didn't do anything," he says, confused, and pulls himself to a standing position.

"About last time. I didn't mean for it to…" Alana couldn't find the right words, but Will could.

"Didn't mean for it to be a one night stand? It's fine, Dr. Bloom, I understand," Will answer coolly.

He staggers to the living room and then glances at the stairs before sitting on the couch; too dizzy for the steps. Alana lingers in the doorway to the kitchen and fights the two different impulses in her mind.

One tells her run out the door– the other tells her to run straight to the man on the couch.


	9. Chapter 9 final chapter

**a/u: thank you guys for all the feedback and stuff. this is the last chapter. i'll write more stories soon. as always, enjoy.**

Will had two urges building in the bottom of his stomach. Two choices.

– tell Alana that he was fine, and that he wanted her to leave.

– look at her the same way she looked at him; eyes teeming with foggy 'want'.

Heart hammering, vision blurry and leg stinging. All he felt was pain. Will ran a hand over his face and fought for logical thought– solid ground. He felt like he was floating off in the galaxy, (swore that he felt the atmosphere slipping between his fingers) and when he looked up vertigo from the alcohol hit him hard. Head back in his hands– seeing could wait.

He heard Alana move but for once didn't bother with her– she was probably getting ready to get her coat and leave, anyway; hell, she'd probably go straight to Hannibal about his episode. The thought of Hannibal's reaction frightened Will; he could almost see his doctor's distant but grounded expression (too sane to get too close) staring back at Will. He felt himself shiver from the thought of what Jack would do if he were to find out.

Will didn't know that he was crying until he felt Alana's hand on his damp face– didn't realize that she was crying until he tasted her tears on his tongue as she kissed him.

At first he didn't react, and Alana was ready to pull away, regretful, when she felt Will wrap his arms around her and pull her to the couch with him. He tasted like booze and misery, and she drank him in like she was dying of thirst and he was water. Will's tongue was hot inside her mouth, scraping over her teeth, and she ran her fingers through his hair; he gasped when she got caught in a knot and gave a pull.

Alana opened her mouth to speak but Will shook his head, curls falling over his eyes.

"No," he muttered.

"No what?"

"I don't want to talk about this." _I don't want to think about this._

Alana kissed him again, gently, and Will tasted the urgency buried beneath her composure– bit down on her lip.

He slipped his hands up her shirt, her back as smooth as marble beneath his palms, and pulled it over her head. Their clothes made a heap on the floor; a little monument of all the things that they knew that they would probably regret later. Alana closed her eyes. She felt Will fall between her legs again and her fingers sought for the deep curve in his back.

The couch rubbed against her back (she was sure that she'd have rug burn in the morning) and the rain spattered against the window. She tasted Will pain when he kissed her, sweaty and heart pounding. Will could feel her beneath her, could feel her fingers making grooves in his back. Felt the bandage on his leg slip and slide with each movement.

Alana grabbed a handful of his hair and he moaned hoarsely, his nose finding refuge in her collarbone.

"Christ," he muttered as he crawled off of her.

Will slid to the floor, searching for his clothes; suddenly embarrassed. When Alana joined him and slipped back into her underwear, they sat staring at the rain for a long while. She shivered from the sweat cooling on her skin and Will turned to her, months of lost words on his lips.

"What's wrong with us?" he asked, laying his head against the couch and sighing.

Alana didn't have to ask what he meant, because she had been asking herself the same question. She scooted closer and took Will's hand, their fingers wearing together. His scars felt natural under her palms.

She didn't know when it started, but she had begun to wonder all kinds of things about Will Graham– the little things, mainly, like how he liked his eggs; his favorite book; where he grew up.

"Did you mean it?" Alana asked suddenly.

Will rolled his head to the side to look at her– topples, still; her nakedness so much more than just her lack of clothing.

"Mean what?"

"That we could go together like milk and honey."

"Keep each other warm?"

"And help each other sleep."

For a while Will didn't speak, but when he did, it was hushed, like a best kept secret. "More than that, but yeah, I meant it."

"More than what?"

"Nevermind."

Alana brought her hand to his face before he could turn away. Didn't bother to say his name, because he knew.

Will didn't say what he wanted to, because Alana knew what was on his lips, and when she kissed him, he got his answer.

"Milk and honey, then?" she asked quietly.

"Yeah," Will said, letting her fall into the curve of his body, and she his. "Milk and honey."

(**and they were**)


End file.
